Little Heart's Ease

Rough Trade; 2004

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Saith the prophet: Take thou up a lamentation for Royal City. In an interview, singer/songwriter Aaron Riches recently compared 2001's demon-haunted Alone at the Microphone to Dante's "Inferno", and the new record to "Paradisio". Although Little Heart's Ease faithfully follows country-rock strictures-- from Sweetheart of the Rodeo to Magnolia Electric Co.-- even Dante couldn't skip Purgatory.

Neil Hannon aside, my memory of The Divine Comedy isn't as sharp as it should be. Suffice it to say that Purgatory is a boring place to spend a thousand years, although the seven terraces for the seven deadly sins gives me an idea for a cool Kevin Spacey movie. Purgatory isn't terribly exciting over a 43-minute record, either. Royal City's latest has its charms, but Riches' songwriting seems to have lost a certain spark since emerging from his previous outing's acoustic fire-and-brimstone.

Ostensibly taking its name from an Emily Dickinson poem, Little Heart's Ease follows the poet's example. "Heaven does not change her blue," Dickinson wrote, "Nor will I, the little Heart's Ease-- Ever be induced to do!" In that spirit, the band sticks to a formula of ragged indie folk that could almost be mistaken for Palace or Smog. "My Body Is Numbered" is a slow waltz fit for a Gram Parsons B-side; "Enemy" busts out stoned harmonica and On the Beach guitar solos. But appropriate alt-country reference points can only make a band pleasant, not remarkable.

Too often, the new record substitutes weighty, Biblical language for true heft. "He will come," Riches says repeatedly on opener "Bring My Father a Gift". With a bassline that owes back royalties to Paul Revere & The Raiders, the song reminds me instead of someone else who "will return": Cherokee people, Cherokee triii-hiiibe. Ahem. "That My Head Were a Spring" folds over itself like a not-so-famous blue raincoat. "Weep for me, O ye, O thee," goes "Jerusalem", a jangly midtempo number.

Of course, Dante met Beatrice at the end of "Purgatorio". Little Heart's Ease occasionally foreshadows a bright future: the waltz of saloon love song "Cabbage Rolls", the harmonies of "Ain't That the Way", the plaintive descending chords of "Can't You". The poppiest song on the album is "She Will Come", which echoes the lyrics of the opener. Here, Royal City break from tradition for an ebullient, handclap-filled breakdown. They could be onto something.

Alas, "She Will Come" also provides the moment when I first began to doubt the record. It's silly, but when Riches sings about dust hanging around "every nape" of a girl's neck (a neck has only one nape), I wonder if he just scribbled down words that sounded nice rather than writing proper lyrics. It's like when I realized that TV on the Radio were mispronouncing "prescience" and started to worry that Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes wouldn't be as brilliant as I hoped. (It wasn't.) These may be little things but they make such a difference, to paraphrase old Mozzer. Using words you don't understand isn't just the antithesis of rock 'n' roll, it's a move reserved for poseurs and music critics-- and, yes that's a pleonasm.

But enough wailing and teeth-gnashing. Little Heart's Ease, like Purgatory itself, is just transitory. Royal City have always seemed on the verge of a truly great album; this is the first time they've just plain struck out. For a follow-up, Royal City could do worse than study band member Jim Guthrie's Now, More Than Ever, a 2003 indie-pop masterpiece that puts Royal City's latest to shame. Or they could look to their own non-album cover of "Is This It" to see what's really missing: strong melodies and distinctive lyrics. Amen.